


i think we should be home by now

by poopinglillies



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Swear, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, References to Abuse, References to Depression, being an adult is hard, i hope that's not the same as saying i'm funny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poopinglillies/pseuds/poopinglillies
Summary: Richie and Eddie's friendship is a lot more complicated than either is willing to admit, but that’s fine because they eventually forget all about it - and each other. Until they have to come back to Derry to face that fucking clown and all the other nightmares they never really left behind.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Richie Gets a New Bed

**Author's Note:**

> IT Chapter 2 wrecked me and I am still emotionally frustrated. To fix that, I decided to fix the story (you're welcome, Stephen!).  
> Okay, so maybe this isn't any good, but at least in this version, the gay boys finally kiss. And also, figure their shit out. Everyone deserves the chance to heal.

When Richie got his cousin’s secondhand double-bed, all the Losers went nuts. They were fifteen at the time, everyone growing a bit too big for their kid beds and begging their parents for new ones (everyone but Eddie, who seemed to have grown at most 3 inches in 3 years). Richie, in close competition with Beverly, had been the one to stretch the most, 5 foot 10 now and growing. He had spent the past year and a half sleeping with his feet hanging at the end of the bed.

Everyone went over to Richie’s to check the famous double bed when it arrived. They took turns sitting, lying and jumping on it, then the novelty wore off and they all left to go biking to the creek. 

Richie, however, wouldn’t stop talking about it until he had successfully annoyed everyone with his god-forsaken bed, and after a week or so the topic died down – except whenever Richie added ‘…and my double bed’ to any random sentence and made everyone collectively groan.

But then Eddie slept over, like he did, all the time. 

They had been playing Nintendo games until late at night in the basement, eating chips and smoking weed (incidentally, also gotten from Richie’s cousin), because Richie’s parents let him do whatever he wanted and Eddie’ mom forbade games, chips and non-prescribed drugs. 

It was only eleven on a Friday night, but Richie could already see Eddie’s head bobbing once or twice, his yawns growing more frequent and dramatic. Richie glanced at him, leaning back against the couch and eating what he knew was his final chip. “Hey Eduardo, you wanna go to bed?”

Eddie’s head fell to the side in absolute defeat, but his face was the mask of resilience. “No.”

“You’re such a pussy,” Richie laughed, kicking at his leg, which was lying on the coffee table and fell with a thump to the ground.

“It’s not my fault I woke up in time for school, okay, Richie, maybe if you had a schedule and woke up a little earlier you wouldn’t be late everyday—” his yawn cut him off in the middle of his pissy rant, and Richie just laughed again. “Fuck you!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, come on,” he got up with a groan, hand extended toward Eddie, which the boy took. Richie pulled him up, enjoying how small Eddie felt compared to his increasingly tall and lanky self.

Whenever he slept over, Richie always got a second mattress from under his bed for Eddie, made his bed as sloppily as always and fell asleep to Eddie complaining about it (if Eddie didn’t fall asleep mid-rant first). 

This time, however, when he arrived upstairs to his room, Richie stopped at the door. Eddie came up behind him a seconds later, carrying his little toiletry bag with him. “What is it?”

“I was thinking, do you wanna try out the double bed?” Richie asked, words spilling out of his mouth machine-gun style so he wouldn’t have to actually consider them.

“You mean you wanna sleep on the floor?”

“No, I mean—it’s a double bed so we can both fit in it, I mean, you’re like half the size of a normal person so we can fit just fine.” Richie could feel his breath failing, but he tried not to let it show. Why the hell had he even suggested it? Why would Eddie ever say yes to that?

“Okay, first of all, fuck you, Richie—” and then Eddie had walked over to the bed and fallen on top of it. He looked even smaller on such a large bed, comically so, but Richie only watched him, stomach churning, feeling like he had made the most terrible decision. “And I don’t mind, this is better than your old mattress.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah, totally, uh–-“ he turned to his closet, to distract himself for a moment, “I’ll get you some pajamas. I think I still have a onesie from when I was 9.”

“Fuck you, Richie—” Eddie shrieked.

Eddie didn’t think bed-sharing was going to be such a big deal. He had spent the biggest part of his life sleeping with his mom (something he would never in the world tell the other Losers, though he suspected they probably knew) and, if anything, he enjoyed some companionship in the dark. But then Richie turned off the light, murmured ‘Good night, Eds’ and climbed on the bed, and Eddie began to feel…

He had made a terrible mistake.

This wasn’t at all like with his mom (god, that sounded wrong).

He usually tossed and turned a lot while trying to sleep and whenever he was with Richie he would talk his mouth off until suddenly falling dead. Richie didn’t mind, mostly because Eddie knew he was never that sleepy anyway and just did it cause he knew Eddie preferred not to be alone. But now Eddie didn’t dare move a muscle, not even make a sound, and he wasn’t sure why. He was turned with his back to Richie, who felt very far away and still very close on this double bed, and he could feel the heat radiating from his friend without having to look and see if he was there. He could hear his breathing, shallow and soft, and Eddie knew he was awake. But he was quiet too.

It seemed a bit too much now, to be wearing Richie’s clothes and sleeping next to him on his bed, suddenly it felt like he was engulfed in a sea of Richiness, his smell everywhere, but it was a bit too late to pull the extra mattress, so he was just going to bear it. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the presence of the other boy, mentally cursing Richie for thinking this was an acceptable idea, but not sure exactly why it wasn’t.

Eddie opened his eyes again, the heat too strong to bear, and realized he had fallen asleep. He felt dizzily warm, which was nonsense because it was probably around 10 degrees outside and he only had a duvet covering him. Then he realized the heat was coming from behind him – he was leaning against something.

Not something, he was leaning against Richie.

Eddie could see his spot of the bed empty, the other side of the bed feeling like a giant leap away from him. He had moved during the night. Which, of course he had, just because he could never move when he was with his mom, his body just decided to go waltzing in a bigger bed. And now there he was, back pressing against… against what exactly?

Eddie realized a bit too late there was an arm spread over him, a few inches beneath his face. He was beginning to panic a little bit. Were they spooning? Did this constitute spooning? He was going to kill Richie.

He tried to move forward a bit, heart racing, and he didn’t know why he didn’t just slap Richie’s arm away and get pissed off, but he knew he desperately needed to move away from this position. God, he could smell Richie, and he smelled just like the shirt he had on, but stronger, weed and something musky, so strong it was making Eddie dizzy again, but he didn’t want to understand why. He could feel Richie’s breathing as much as he could hear it, deep and regular and totally unconscious.

Eddie wobbled around slightly, careful not to displace the arm too much in case Richie woke up. All he managed was to get himself a bit lower on the bed, back still pressed firmly against Richie’s stomach – or was it his crotch? Oh god, don’t think of the word crotch –

–and he realized he was getting hard.

He tried to take deep breaths, convince himself this was not happening. He suddenly missed his inhaler, if only because it was so comforting to get some kind of solution pumped into you whenever you were losing your mind.

This was his best friend sleeping behind him! He was not about to get an erection from his best friend having a manly smell and feeling hard and manly behind him. Not from Richie, his best friend, his boy best friend, Richie was a boy—

Oh, no, no, it was just getting worse. Eddie tried to move again, this time a little more forcefully, and Richie’s arm got pushed to the side. Eddie whimpered when he heard the sound of rustling behind him, and a drowsy, hoarse voice ask: “Eddie?”

Eddie thought about pretending to be asleep, but he knew this wouldn’t work and Richie wouldn’t stop until he said something. “I’m fine, go to sleep,” he tried to sound sleepy as well, but only managed to sound pissed off.

Richie chuckled behind him, and Eddie’s underwear seemed to only get tighter. “Are you upset cause I caught you trying to spoon me?”

Eddie huffed and turned to him. “You were spooning me, you dickhead,” he said, and his voice broke halfway through, going up a few dramatic octaves.

Richie’s smile disappeared from his face. He actually looked worried, beginning to pull back the covers. “Hey, uh, are you okay? Your face looks—I wasn’t trying to do anything, Eds—”

Eddie was no longer feeling very in control of himself. He lunged forward, slapping Richie’s hand away from the duvet. “Don’t!” he shouted. They were close again, and Eddie could feel himself getting short of breath. He shouldn’t have turned, because turning meant looking at Richie’s face. That was suddenly too much to look at, too much Richie, eyes looking small without the glasses, wild dark curls falling all over his face.

“Eds?”

“Shut up. Just leave it. I—”

“You look a bit hot.”

“I’m not, I’m really cold.” 

Richie was still staring at him, with no reaction. Eddie’s situation was growing a bit painful, a bit desperate, his mind running around in circles trying to figure out what to do now that he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

He swallowed hard. The more he stared at Richie, the foggier his mind got. “Richie.”

“Yeah, Eds?”

“Does marijuana make you horny?”

Richie sputtered, going red in the face, then began laughing, burying his face on the duvet. 

“What the fuck, Richie!” Eddie shrieked, in as low a voice as he could manage. “I’m serious!”

“What are you talking about?” Richie wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, leaning his head back against the pillow with a sigh. “God, you looked so cute asking that question.”

He didn’t know whether Richie was joking or not, but the thought that he was serious was suddenly more pleasing than annoying. “So you aren’t horny?”

Richie stared at him. “Uh…what?”

“Forget it, forget it, good night.” He turned around, back against Richie again, and this time he waited a bit, paying attention to Richie’s breathing. He only leaned back when he could hear it moving steady again, until he was pressing against Richie, the pressure sending waves of relief to his lower parts. He breathed out through his nose, careful not to make a sound, holding back not to press harder.

“Fuck Ed,” a voice murmured, a little breathless, behind him, “what are you doing?”

“Uh, oh, nothing,” he tried to sound sleepy again and scramble back to his side of the bed, but an arm grabbed hold of him and turned him around like a doll. And suddenly he was close to Richie again, but Richie’s cheeks were red and his breathing wasn’t even anymore. Eddie didn’t remember ever thinking someone was so beautiful. Was this the weed, or just a really sudden and ill-timed bout of puberty?

“I think it’s the weed,” Eddie said, then leaned forward and kissed Richie on the lips. Richie didn’t react at all, setting off a panic alarm inside Eddie’s mind that he had indeed fucked up completely. He started pulling back half a second afterwards, his mind going fuckfuckfuck at 100 miles an hour.

Then Richie’s hands grabbed his face, and their mouths were pressed together again. This time it was Richie who kissed him, so hard Eddie got scared he might dislocate his nose (which could happen, you know, he had read about it). But the fear was replaced by an electric thrill running through him, and his head was spinning so hard he couldn’t focus on anything except that kissing Richie had been a very good idea. 

It didn’t take long for Eddie to decide he was not satisfied with the kissing, and soon, with hands shaking, he was climbing on top of Richie, who looked absolutely delighted. “The weed, huh?”

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie said.

There was a sort of quiet in the morning, which was the first sign something was wrong. Most friends are used to living in comfortable silence – hell, that’s probably the natural way relationships work. There must be quiet at some point.

But both Richie and Eddie were loud, nervous and edgy as shit, and the only times there was any kind of peaceful silence settling in between them was the times when they were sleeping or fighting – and even then the silence usually lasted about 2 or 3 minutes until they started shouting and/or making fun of each other again. There was no space for silence in a friendship like theirs, because they both functioned on words, speaking up whatever thoughts came to their heads at any time, and speaking up even louder to drown out the thoughts that really could not come out.

And now they were quiet. Richie could hear his heart beating. He wondered if he concentrated enough he might hear Eddie’s, but when he tried his ears began buzzing and he had a sinking feeling, like someone was pushing his head down in water.

He opened his mouth, for the tenth time maybe, ready to speak up, but he had run out of words, for once. It felt like Eddie had taken his voice with him when he unmasked him like that, out of nowhere, with that kiss and that weed bullshit, with the way his body felt pressing against Richie’s, like he had always imagined it would but also not at all, and now he felt so fucking seen—

“I’m going home.”

Richie’s head shot up. “What?”

Eddie turned his head to him, slowly. He had a frown on his face, which made Richie feel a little more normal. “I’m going home. My mom wants me home early.”

Richie sighed. “Can you not talk about your mom for five minutes?”

Eddie’s frown deepened. “I haven’t talked about my mom in hours.”

That was, unfortunately, an opening for Richie, and of course he took it. “Yeah, well, good, I would have hoped you wouldn’t talk about your mom when you’re getting your first handjob—” A hand was pressed against his mouth as the boy in front of him hissed.

“Shut up Richie! Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”

And his head was back under water, pushed down, sinking. But he smiled instead of gasping. “What’s wrong with me? I wasn’t the one who started blaming the weed on my erection so I could cozy up to my—

“Just shut it! I’m leaving!” Eddie got up with a jump from the bed, red in the face, eyes looking down and up and anywhere but Richie, even with Richie’s eyes hanging insistently on him. “Forget about it, okay. We won’t talk about this ever again.”

Like his whole body was submerged. Richie wished he would at least stop breathing and drown already. “Come on, Eddster…”

Eddie looked at him, finally, maybe because he sounded more pitiful than he had expected. “And that wasn’t my first handjob, okay?”

“You fucking liar, you’d have your first handjob in college if it wasn’t for me.”

They stared at each other, and Eddie was the first to break into a slight smile. Richie smiled back, hoping, wishing he wouldn’t leave. God, he looked so cute in those giant plaid pajamas. Richie had to hold back from saying ‘I love you’ or some other insane teenage crap.

“Well, that was your first time too,” Eddie replied, pissed again, but Richie felt himself back on the surface. “So, fuck you for even mentioning that.”

“Don’t you want breakfast?”

“I need to take a shower.”

“You can take a shower here.”

Eddie crossed his arms. “What, so we can take a shower together?”

Richie raised up his hands. “Wait, wait, wait—I didn’t say that. You did. Do you wanna take a shower together, Eddie? You could just go ahead and ask.”

“Goddammit, Richie!” Eddie stomped his foot. Absolutely adorable. “This isn’t a joke! We shouldn’t have done this, now we just have to— I don’t know, pretend it never happened and move on with our lives and hope that this doesn’t traumatize and scar us forever.”

“I’d imagine you have a lot more to be traumatized by, considering your life so far,” Richie pointed out, leaning his head on his hand.

“Please don’t mention that fucking clown.”

“I was actually talking about your mom and that weird shape of your head. I think you’re gonna have it rough in the years to come.”

Eddie sighed. Richie was losing him. Jesus, was it time to be making jokes? But he couldn’t keep up this conversation, he was not ready for this conversation, he had never been ready for any conversation involving Eddie and this ever in his life. “I’m serious, Richie,” Eddie said, but Richie wasn’t ready for that. Being serious implied a lot of things he did not want to deal with.

“We don’t have to act like it’s such a big deal.” This time Richie tried not to sound pleading. He didn’t want to let him know Eddie was breaking his heart. But maybe Eddie wouldn’t act like this if he knew.

“We won’t act. We’ll just forget it.” Eddie pointed a finger at him. “I hope you don’t have any messed-up sexually-transmitted diseases.”

Richie laughed. “You’re the little porcelain kid, I’m hoping you don’t give me any of your many mystery illnesses.”

He clearly didn’t know what he was doing at this point, and Eddie had had it. He grabbed at his bag and rushed out of the room, closing the door with a dramatic bang. Richie didn’t try to stop him or say anything at all. He just dropped his head back, exhausted, and tried to keep the tears from spilling out. When that didn’t work, he put Eddie’s pillow over his face, hoping the smell of his friend might drown out everything else (who knows, he might die of asphyxiation in the process).

That was the first time they kissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: weed can indeed make you horny, if anyone was wondering, so Eddie's concern was actually valid (but also total bullshit).  
> This chapter takes place after IT chapter 1 (you probably noticed, but I like unnecessary explanations).
> 
> Any feedback (thoughts, out-of-place insults, over-the-top praise) is welcomed and highly recommended!  
> Also, go listen to David Bowie's 'Time', which inspired the title of this fic (because I am a dummy and misheard the lyrics, but still! the lyrics fit these sad people very well!)


	2. Richie is a Banned Book

It happened again because of course it would happen again. Richie didn’t mean for it to happen again, even if he wanted it more than anything (and would have died before saying it). In fact, he actively avoided being near Eddie, touching or teasing him after the incident, scared that any false step would be read as something more now that the secret was out in the open (or was it?).

Everyone noticed, because teasing Eddie was Richie’s part-time job, but no one said a word about it. It didn’t last long. A couple of days later, as they were leaving Bill’s house after game night, Eddie walked home with him, even though neither of them had said anything. Richie stopped in front of his door.

“I don’t have any weed left, just so you know.”

“You sound like a drug-dealer, Richie,” Eddie scoffed, standing in front of him. “Why are you acting weird?”

“I’m not acting weird.”

Eddie frowned. “Everyone noticed. Maybe stop acting weird.”

“How am I acting weird? I’m just being myself—

“You barely even talk to me, and everyone can see you’re acting like—

“I’m cracking all my jokes, I didn’t know I was supposed to—

“—like you’re scared to touch me or something, I’m not contagious, you fucking asshole—

“—try so hard to be ‘normal’, maybe if you stopped analyzing my every move like I’m part of a fucked-up experiment I would go back to being good old Richie—” And then Eddie kissed him and effectively won the argument.

The sound of a car driving past made them both jump away, hearts racing, even though it was dark and it lasted only a second. Eddie stared at Richie, eyes wide, but Richie was smiling.

“Wait, let me guess. You smoked some weed, you got horny and Mrs. Kaspbrak was unavailable.”

“You’re disgusting.” Eddie punched him in the arm, and Richie didn’t even try to avoid him, smiling still. “Your mom was unavailable.”

“I’m available.”

Eddie cracked a smile, gazing away from Richie, who could swear he had just made Eddie blush. “I have to get home.”

Richie had a million questions running through his head at that point, most of which could be summarized as ‘What does this mean?’, but he didn’t have the guts to ask any of them. Some things you just act on rather than talk about, and Richie was beginning to understand this just might be the case.

So he just said, “Kiss your mom good night for me!”.

Eddie flipped him the finger and left, but Richie would have made a bet with all the clown demons in the world that he was still blushing.

It turned into a habit, without them planning it or even realizing it. It was an easy habit to fall into, because their routine was already based around each other, and all they had to do was lean into the traditions and rituals they were already familiar with since childhood to find that…actually, nothing much had changed.

They walked a bit closer together, maybe touched a bit more and the teasing had become a bit more sexually-charged (if that was even possible), but honestly, no sharp observer would be able to tell the difference.

They jumped on each other whenever they managed to get away from the Losers long enough. Richie pinched Eddie and made him giggle whenever they were with the group and then Eddie had to get pissed off and fire insults at him at 100 mph like he always did, but Richie just smiled like a doofus in response, and they both secretly loved it. They kissed when they went home and stayed up all night together in Richie’s double-bed whenever Eddie managed to sleep over.

He started sleeping over quite a bit.

They didn’t talk about it, about what it meant, because talking about it would mean acknowledging it, as something different and not normal. If anything, it was just a natural extension of their friendship.

(That was absolute bullshit and Richie knew it, but he didn’t know if Eddie knew it, he didn’t know what Eddie thought of this at all because they didn’t talk about their feelings, and Richie was too scared of having Eddie make a run for it the moment he mentioned anything about love or ‘hey, I’m gay, in case you haven’t quite noticed’).

But Richie was happy. He was absolutely ecstatic. Having Eddie want him, want to kiss him. And being able to kiss him back whenever he wanted to was like a god-sent gift for surviving the last 16 years of his life pining after his best friend like a fucking loser.

What a glorious time to be a loser.

This went on, with a few dramatic interruptions here and there, until a few weeks before Richie turned 18. It was a sunny afternoon outside, and they were sprawled on Richie’s bed, reading comics, legs tangled together, kicking each other every once in a while.

“I can’t believe they banned this comic from school just because of the cat storyline,” Eddie commented, pushing against Richie’s knee to get his attention. “It’s so dumb, either way, why would a cat worship Satan?”

“Pretty dumb, yeah,” Richie replied.

“I guess every book is just gonna be labelled ‘profane and deviant’ from now on,” Eddie continued, turning the book over and glancing at the back cover in boredom. “They could use that for you too, Richie.”

“Yeah, they could.”

Eddie looked up from his magazine to stare at Richie, suspiciously quiet at his very funny remark. Richie wasn’t even reading, he was just staring at his hand, fingers drumming against a comic cover.

“What’s up with you?” Eddie asked, worry suddenly starting to creep up. Richie was not the kind of person who would just go quiet without very good reason – even when he had good reason to be quiet he still talked his ass off.

Richie raised his eyes at him and gave a tense smile. “I’m just amazed at how you can capture my essence with your words.”

“I think I’m leaving out quite a bit from that description.”

Richie’s tight-lipped smile remained. Eddie was puzzled about what to say next. They had been fine a second before, but now it seemed like he had been dropped on a wholly new situation. He dropped the comic and crawled forward, settling against Richie’s lap. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on in Richie’s mind (something that had been happening more and more lately) but touching him always brought him comfort.

Richie ran his fingers through Eddie’s hair, thoughtful. “Hey, Eddster?” Richie said, not looking at him.

“You sound very serious and that’s scary, so please don’t fucking pull a prank on me right now.”

Richie looked up at him, eyes full of mischief, and Eddie felt himself exhaling more easily. “It’s not a prank.”

“How come I don’t believe you?”

It was Richie’s turn to breathe in and out rather dramatically. “Ok, let’s try again: hey, Eddie, I’m going to leave this piece of shit city, do you want to come with me?”

Eddie blinked. It was difficult for someone like Eddie to go speechless, but here it was. It lasted about five seconds. “What? I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m quitting Derry. As soon as I turn 18.”

“Richie, that’s—that’s in a month!”

“I know, and—”

Eddie didn’t let him finish, slapping Richie’s hand away and climbing from his lap. He sat up in front of the boy, feeling the burning sense of betrayal turning into fiery-hot anger in a flash, and he had to hold his tongue not to start spewing every obscenity he could muster against Richie. The rational part of him tried to keep control, to give his best friend a chance to explain himself, because there had to be some kind of explanation.

“What are you talking about, Richie?” Eddie asked, voice and face attempting to stay neutral.

“I decided a couple weeks ago,” Richie began, his apologetic expression only fueling Eddie’s anger, “I was going to tell you sooner but—”

“A couple weeks ago??” Eddie interrupted, voice rising. Oh, he was about to burst. He wasn’t sure what was going to come out though, the way his heart was beginning to speed out it might as well be a panic attack. “You decided you were going to leave forever weeks ago and you didn’t say anything?”

Richie raised his hands defensively, voice pleading. “Okay, I know you’re upset, look, if you would just not curse me to Hell before hearing me out—”

“What do you even want to say to me??”

“I just did, I asked you to come with me.”

Eddie stared at Richie, rage written all over his face, because he didn’t know what he was supposed to feel or do, and anger felt like the safest option. Nothing about this made sense, nothing had been foreseen, and he was not prepared to deal with it now or-or ever.

“No, I mean—fuck you, if this is a joke—” He got up from the bed and put on his shoes, the room suddenly getting too hot.

“It’s not a joke. And trust me, this is probably the only time in my life I’ll be saying this. And also, don’t put on your shoes, Eddie. Eddie, don’t walk out—Eddie—””

Eddie could hear Richie hurrying to catch up with him as he ran down the stairs and walked out the door, onto Richie’s unkept front lawn. “Eddie!”

Richie held him by the arm, and because Richie was stupidly big for his age (Eddie was not going to admit he was stupidly small), he was forced to stop. “Can you be a little gentler, trashmouth?”

“I don’t want you to be upset.”

Eddie suddenly realized the emotion his anger was trying to mask was ‘about to burst into tears’ and it just made him even angrier that Richie seemed to recognize that. “I’m not upset! I’m pissed off! What the fuck, Richie—how can you even talk about it like that?” Eddie pulled at his arm and Richie let it go, his face crumpled into sadness. It scared Eddie to see it, to see him so naked and to see his own feelings reflected there, when Richie was the one person who masked everything beyond amusement.

“Because I’m trying to talk to you about it, Ed.”

“Are you just gonna drop out of school and run away? To do what? You’re just gonna end up in a homeless shelter with pneumonia by the time you’re 20, you know that, Richie, you’re being so fucking irresponsible—”

“It’s not like I was ever going to use my diploma for anything anyway—”

“What the fuck, Richie, do you even have a plan, I knew you were an idiot but I didn’t think you wanted to just throw your life away—” Eddie was stunned into silence by Richie moving forward and grabbing him by the arms.

“Eddie, if I have to spend another year in this fucking backwater town I’m going to kill myself and I don’t wanna have to die in this shitty-ass place with fucking psycho clowns running around,” Richie said. “I have a plan. I know what I want to do. I’m going to New York. There’s nothing for me here. Fuck, there’s nothing for any one of us here, and we’ve all known it this whole time.”

Eddie stared at him, shocked. “New York?”

“We can go somewhere else, if you’d like,” Richie replied immediately. “I know you don’t like that big city pollution.”

“In a few years, we won’t be able to escape urban pollution anyway, it’s only a matter of time until everyone develops asthma,” Eddie said. Richie smiled at him, probably thinking it was safe to do so now, but Eddie’s eyes went hard again, because he was supposed to be pissed off. “And don’t change the subject!”

“I’m not!”

“And don’t—” Eddie pushed Richie’s arms away, taking a step back, with a quick glance around to make sure there was no one watching, “don’t touch me! I don’t understand how you can say that kind of thing to me now, I—do the other guys know?”

Richie stared at Eddie like he was some kind of idiot, which just upset him more. “No. You know. Only you.”

Eddie swallowed hard, ignoring the beating of his heart. “Well, if you want my advice, I think your plan – which is barely even a plan, to start with – is fucking stupid and you are going to starve to death in New York because you don’t have any practical skills—”

“I can tell jokes.”

“Your jokes are terrible.”

“Hey!” Richie pointed at him. “Your mom always laughs.”

Eddie raised his hands in distress. “Goddammit, Richie! Why do you have to be like this? Why would you want to skip graduation and prom and everything and just—”

Richie laughed. “I wasn’t gonna go to prom anyway, who would I take? Beverly’s gone.”

“Oh, you think you would have taken Beverly?”

“Well, your mom was unavailable, you wanted me to take you?”

Eddie just glared at him.

Richie fixed his glasses and pushed his hair back, pulling at it slightly with what Eddie was happy to notice was frustration. Well, this conversation was clearly not going the way either of them expected. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I am always mad at you.”

“You don’t have to be. You can come with me. We can leave together.”

“There’s no way I’m skipping town without finishing high school, Richie. I might as well shoot myself in the head and get it over with.” Eddie’s fists were tightened and he felt like a ball of nerves, but Richie had a weird power to disarm him sometimes, with the way he looked at him and half-smiled, or just looked at him, or just stood there.

He used it now, without knowing, and Eddie could feel himself unraveling, losing his edges.

Richie had a knowing smile, but his eyes were sad. “I figured as much, nerd. I can wait for you, you know. There’s no hurry.”

Eddie scoffed, trying to keep up the pretense even though his insides were aching. “Aren’t you ready to leave in a month?”

“Not if you come with me, Eddster. I’d be willing to wait a few more months for you. I could use someone that nags all the time and makes me look handsome and fun by comparison.”

“Fuck you.” But his palms were open now, heart gone soft.

“I’m serious, you’d make the absolute best wingman.”

“I am too.”

Richie’s smile was tight-lipped now. “Won’t you leave Derry forever with me?”

Eddie wanted the anger to fuel him again now, but his insides had turned to mush, crumbled into bits and pieces. He needed the anger, because it was not fair, it was not fair for Richie to ask this of him, when he knew, he fucking knew—

“I couldn’t—” Eddie started, eyes going down.

“I know.” Richie waved his hand in the air, at everything around them (which mostly included his family’s very unkept garden). “You can’t leave this, right?”

“I can’t leave my mother.”

Richie snorted, but the anger seemed to have bounced from Eddie to him. “Your mother is fucking crazy, Eddie. You know that. She’s been poisoning you for years and you’ve known that since we were kids.”

“You don’t know anything, Richie, she needs me—”

“No, she doesn’t, you’re not even fucking asthmatic, you don’t need that fucking inhaler and you never needed that fucking fanny pack!”

The panic Eddie felt at being called out triggered the anger again. Full edge.

“Fuck you, you don’t know anything about any FUCKING THING YOU SELFISH FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

Some kids in tricycles chose that particular time to ride by that street and pass Richie’s house at this particular point, and Eddie could hear all the little wheels stop spinning all at once right, followed by little gasps behind him. He took a deep breath and stared at a snickering Richie, who had a hand over his face to try to keep his laughter contained.

Richie stopped laughing once Eddie had stared hard enough, and he could hear the wheels turning again and driving away, the sound of children chuckling followed.

“I’m glad you’ll be such a good influence on the children of Derry once I’m gone,” Richie observed.

“Fuck you, Richie, seriously,” Eddie said. “Fuck you for even asking me that.”

“I know I’m being selfish,” Richie shrugged. “But I thought— maybe you’d want to come. I wish you would, because it would be good for you. Getting away from here would be good for us, you—you could be whoever you want to be out there.”

“Who would I want to be in New York?”

Richie sighed. “Come on, Eddie.”

“Come on what, Richie?” He was daring Richie to say it, to say anything that might cross that line. A part of him hoped he would do it, the other was readying itself to punch him in the face if he did.

“Well, you could be a guy who doesn’t have asthma, for starters.”

“Fuck you, you know I have a condition and I need that inhaler to survive, so could you stop—”

Richie rolled his eyes again, and Eddie swallowed hard. He didn’t want to be so angry right now. He wished Richie could be serious, but was also scared of what that would mean. “I can’t leave my mom,” he continued. “And I won’t leave everyone. It’s not like Derry is dangerous, not anymore.”

“Dude, of course it’s dangerous.” Richie was looking at Eddie, but Eddie’s eyes were unyielding. “Derry could be the safest town in America and it would still be fucking dangerous.”

“I won’t go with you, so give it up.”

“Fine. But I’m going.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am. I wish you could be less of a fucking headstrong little shit and just come with me.”

“Oh, keep insulting me like that, Richie, I just might reconsider dropping my whole future for a life inside a dumpster in the big city.”

Richie groaned and sighed, grabbing at his hair and pulling at the curls. “Why do you have to be like this?”

“Why do you have to be so weird?” Eddie spat back.

“Because I love you, you dimwit, and I wanna keep you safe.”

Eddie stared at him, his face immediately heating up. It was like a slap to the face, and he suddenly felt like a kid, completely out of his depth and– scared. He wanted to glance around him, make sure no one was around, because suddenly things were indeed dangerous and he wasn't ready for any of it. 

“You can’t keep me safe, Richie,” he said, because he had to say something and also vehemently deny that Richie had said those words to him, had meant it any other way than in good old friendship.

Richie shrugged again. “Yeah, but I’d still wanna try. Cause I’m an idiot and I love you. I love you, Eddie.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not joking.”

“You’re always joking.” But Eddie knew he wasn’t joking because there were tears in his eyes.

And also because he knew. He had known all along.

He wished Richie hadn’t said it.

“I have to go home.”

Richie laughed, his eyes glimmering. “Of course, Eddie has to go home. Because what if his mother knew what kind of conversation he was having?”

“At least I have a relationship with my parent. You’re just gonna disappear on yours because they don’t pay attention to you.”

“Well, we both turned out pretty fucking messed up, so I don’t think we should be comparing,” Richie replied.

Eddie nodded. “You’re right, Richie, we’re messed up.” He gestured wildly to the space between them. “This whole thing is messed up. And I’m not going to let you keep dragging me into your shitty fucking dysfunctions. If you want to screw up your life and ruin any chance of having a decent future, you can do that alone. And don’t come crying back to me when you come back to Derry broke and full of STDs because you’re an idiot!”

“I’m not coming back,” Richie said, and his eyes were still shimmering so much Eddie had to keep looking away to maintain his composure. “I’m never coming back here.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“No. Everything else is bullshit. This is for real. I love you, Eddie, you fucking asshole.”

Eddie raised a finger to argue, found he didn’t have any strength left, then just muttered ‘Forget it’, and turned around. His face felt hot and he wanted to shout at Richie that no, you are the asshole, because you are abandoning me, and what for? but Eddie just walked home, feeling his stomach tangled up in a knot and the tears threatening to fall every step he took.

If you really love me, you won’t leave me here.

But Richie left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel torn between thinking this is both in and out of character for Richie. But I think he would only ever pour out his feelings if he had an escape plan (in this case, 'Man, I'm gonna tell Eddie I love him, but only because I'm gonna skip town immediately after and never see him again. This is a great plan.').  
> Deep down he knows Eddie feels the same, just like he knows Eddie was never going to follow him. Eddie is way more in denial than Richie ever was about all the trauma he has faced, which is probably why he falls hard on his old habits, because he can't recognize them for what they are. Richie, on the other hand, thinks they are something tangible he can run away from, when it's never quite that simple.  
> I think if they had actually tried to talk to one another they might have managed. That's what makes it so sad, that they were there for each other the whole time, loving and supporting each other, but they never really listened, because listening would have meant acknowledging and bringing into the light every fear and hurt that they shared.
> 
> Well, stay tuned for the next chapter! And not to be annoying or anything but, leave a comment! Share your thoughts! Send some love (or mild amusement)!


	3. Richie Knows What a Haiku Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the next day after Richie's brutally-received confession, but Eddie is doing everything he can to keep things normal.  
> Of course this doesn't last long.

Richie was not expecting things to be okay the next day, not after the absolute trainwreck that had been their last conversation. It was his own fucking fault for choosing to tell Eddie about it during a weekday, when he could have just done it on a Friday and given the guy a day or two to process it. Or, conversely, he could have just never said anything ever in his life and spared everyone (and himself) from all this bullshit.

It wasn’t like giving Eddie a day more to run over whatever Richie had tried to say – which had been barely understandable already, between all the crying and swearing. Richie’s heart would definitely never recover from that conversation, but his pride might have liked a day to pick itself up and dust itself off from the fucking beating it had taken.  
God, why, why would he have ever thought this might have been a good idea?

He had known what was would happen, he had known he was living off some borrowed luck just by having Eddie be so terrible with girls he had no choice but to go to always-available Richie—but. But then he was always wrong about everything, so maybe he had been wrong about this? Maybe Eddie felt these things too. 

No, Richie was just a messed-up little creep who was ruining his friend’s life with all his creepy little messed-up sexually-deviant bullshit.

He was ready to play it cool and act normal for the next couple weeks, to make up for Eddie ignoring him the whole time, as was bound to happen. He didn’t want his friends rolling their eyes and giving each other knowing glances because of course Richie and Eddie are fighting again. 

Richie arrived in school the next day hell-bent on being normal. He was shocked to find Eddie was trying to out-perform him when it came to that (to be fair, neither were very good at normal).  
He arrived at school early, knowing the boys would be hanging around the entrance. There were Bill, Stanley and Eddie, leaning against the school gates.

“Oh, hey, Richie, we were talking about that new show that aired yesterday about the—” Bill started saying, before Eddie turned to him and interjected with, “Richie, you look like shit.”

Richie stared at Eddie for the first time that day, something he was planning on not doing for at least a week. “Uh, yeah.”

“Oh, didn’t you sleep well?” Stan asked. 

Richie glanced from Stanley to Eddie, who was just looking at him curiously. “No, I was too busy fucking Eddie’s mom all night,” he replied. Everyone collectively groaned, including Eddie. That had been the right answer.

“Well, you’re surprisingly early today,” Bill said, as the school bell rang and everyone looked annoyed but started their torturous walk over to the entrance. “I thought you were never showing up for first period again. I don’t think Mrs. Krampton even remembers your face.”

“How could she forget this handsome guy?” Richie replied, flicking his imaginary long hair. Eddie was staring at him and frowning, but he was trying to ignore it.

Before they could walk inside the building, Eddie spoke: “Your shoelaces are untied.”

Richie stopped. The other boys spared them a glance, but kept walking and chatting. “What?”

Eddie pointed down, at Richie’s dirty sneakers. “Your shoelaces, Richie.”

Richie looked down as well. “Ah, whatever.”

Eddie huffed. “Wait, I’ll get them,” he said as he handed Richie his books and bent down.

Richie considered his next words carefully. “Are you trying to be nicer to me to make up for earlier?”

Eddie glanced up at him quickly, then went on with lacing his shoes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, stop being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” Richie replied, handling Eddie his books back once he got up. “And thanks. But I’m not being weird.”

“Then stop talking weird,” Eddie retorted. “And you’re welcome. Now, come on, I don’t wanna be late for class.”

Eddie pulled at Richie’s hand as he said that, and it was a very brief touch because they were at school, but it sent sparkles throughout Richie’s whole body. More than anything, it left him extremely confused. But he followed.

Throughout the morning it became easier to understand that Eddie was just doing what Eddie always does: pretending nothing happened. It was a very old strategy in his book, and Richie was surprised to see him being so natural about it. He wasn’t even angry at Richie. He was, in fact, very willing to scrape off the whole previous day, all of Richie’s confessions, if that meant Richie would never bring them up again. 

It was, Richie conceded, a lot better than pissed-off, ignoring-him-all-day Eddie, which was what he had been expecting. This Eddie was throwing him a lifeline. Here’s your second chance, choose your words carefully, this Eddie was saying. And boy, Richie would have loved to play Eddie’s game.

But he couldn’t. Not even for Eddie.

He felt awful, because his stubborn Eddie had shared his fruit salad with him during lunch because the only candy machine in the school was still out of order, and fruit salad was always his favorite from the snacks his mom packed him (though he always said he packed it himself).

During gym, they had to run tracks around their Little League-sized football field, but Eddie was spared from the torture because of his many nonsense conditions, so he got to spend the time sitting by a tree reading one of those poetry books he borrowed from Ben and making faces at the boys whenever they ran by. 

Richie’s cardio eventually started to give out on him, so he complained about a horrible migraine to Mr. Treslow, who didn’t care anyway, and got to join Eddie in the shade. Eddie patted the spot of grass next to him, and Richie plopped down unceremoniously.

“I’ve got a headache,” he said, bumping shoulders with him.

“Liar,” Eddie replied, glancing at him, a small smile on his face, then back at his book.

He thinks he won. Richie wanted to enjoy it before he ruined it.

So he turned and plopped his head down on Eddie’s lap, forcing Eddie to quickly move his book away with an annoyed ‘Richie!”. Richie just smiled up at him, and Eddie went back to his book, looking over at the running track to make sure no one was looking, then placing a hand on Richie’s hair and stroking gently (undetectably, really).

“Are they love poems?” Richie asked.

Eddie looked down at him questioningly.

“Ben’s book,” Richie jabbed the book with his finger. Eddie pulled it away with a huff.

“Don’t do that. And no, they’re, I mean,” Eddie’s cheeks went a bit red, “I guess mostly not. It’s a collection of Japanese poems, they’re called haiku.”

“Oh, I know that. That short thing, with the syllables.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. Richie smiled.

“Read me one.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

Eddie looked like he was about to indulge him, but somebody shouted their way, and he immediately removed his fingers from Richie’s hair. Richie looked up, to find Ben coming over with a water bottle.

“Mr. Treslow said you had a migraine, Richie,” he said, offering it to him, and Richie lifted his head and leaned on his elbows to be able to reach for it.

“I don’t, but thanks, man!” he took a long swig, offered it to Eddie, who declined, like he knew he would. “Did you already finish your mile?”

“Yeah, I’ve been practicing,” he sat down next to Eddie, and Richie saw no option but to get back on his butt and just lean against his friend. “Are you enjoying the book?”

Eddie nodded, happily. “This one was my favorite so far actually—” he pointed at a page, and Richie leaned against his arm to take a peek as well. Eddie shook his arm, but not hard enough to get him off, and he let him look eventually.

Hm, Richie didn’t really get poetry.

It was only once class was over and they were all sitting outside, eating chips and talking about nothing, it was only then that Richie broke Eddie’s spell. 

He got up, feeling a TV presenter trying to sell everyone on a chance of a lifetime. “Guys, I have something to tell you.”

Nobody cares much, but from the corner of his eye, he can see he has Eddie’s attention already – if he had been a cat his ears would have perked up at the mention, and that would have been adorable. But Eddie was trying his best to pretend this was just like any other of Richie’s announcements and he wasn’t about to give him his full attention.  
Richie was sorry.

“What is it, Richie?” Stan finally indulged him. Bill and Mike were forced to turn as well then, interrupting their conversation. Ben glanced up from his book, but Eddie was looking down and counting  
something in his medicine box, completely focused.

“It’s an important announcement,” Richie said, feeling nervous by the knowledge that this was actually true.

“You always say that and then you just say you have gas,” Stan retorted.

“It’s not gas. Though I still wouldn’t advise you to stand too close to me either way.”

“Gross, Richie,” he said, though both he and Bill jumped a bit away from him.

Richie shook his head. “Guys this is important, so stop messing around—Mike, where are you going?”

Mike stopped halfway through closing his bag and getting up. “Richie, I have work in 10 minutes.”

Richie waved his hands. “Okay, no, wait, sit yourself down. This is important.”

Now Eddie looked up and was finally staring at him, pretending he didn’t know what this was about while also daring him to go on with it. He should already know never to dare Richie into doing anything.

“I’m turning 18 in a month. I hope everyone already has a present picked out, but I would expect nothing less.”

“Jesus, Richie, I have to go—"

“Okay, okay, look, I’m…” he took a deep breath, “I’m going to leave Derry. When I turn 18.”

Mike sat back down. “What?” he asked.

Bill frowned. “What are you talking about Richie?”

“He’s lying,” Eddie replied immediately.

“I’m going to get out of Derry on my birthday. That’s my birthday gift. To myself.”

“How would you even do that? Stan asked drily.

Richie shrugged, putting his hands inside his pockets. The reactions were a lot less friendly than he had expected. “I have some money saved up and my parents said I can take the old car.”

“Did you tell them you’re skipping town?” Stan knew he hadn’t from the look he was giving him.

“Guys, it’s just a joke,” Eddie said.

“Yeah, I’m not sure they completely understood it, but they were like, ‘yeah do what you want’. It’s not a joke, Eddie.”

“Do you… even have any money, Richie?” Ben asked.

“I do, alright” Richie replied, starting to get a bit annoyed. “I’ve saved up on my grandparents’ Christmas gifts.”

Stan was not done though. “Where are you even gonna go? You don’t have a high school degree.”

“Okay, can we drop the Inquisition a bit?” Richie sat back down, rubbing his hands together. “I’m going to New York. You don’t need a degree there. You barely need to know how to read.”

“I don’t think that’s completely true.”

“No I’m pretty sure everyone there is illiterate but we can look that up later if you want—"

“That’s not a d-detail though, you can’t leave town without a degree to go to New York.” Bill’s eyes looked fearful, and Richie wished he would have told Bill alone. He suddenly wished he hadn’t told any of them.

“Guys, he’s bullshitting us, he’s not leaving. He just wants attention,” Eddie spat out, giving Richie a disdainful glare.

Richie held it, though, tensing up, because he was done obliging Eddie’s whims for a world where he hadn’t poured his heart out the day before.

“No,” Richie said emphatically. “I mean, yes, I want attention, always, but also, no, I am telling the truth.”

Bill shook his head. “I wish you’d have t-t-talked about that before, Richie. I mean, w-why would you—”

“Come on, guys,” Richie pleaded, looking around at all his friends’ displeased faces. “Like everyone here doesn’t want to leave as soon as possible? Also, Mike, you can go to work now.”

Mike got up with a sigh, pulling his backpack behind his shoulder. “I really wish you hadn’t dropped that when I need to hurry to work.”

Richie waved his hand lightly. “I’m sure it will come up again.”

Stanley also grabbed his bag, getting to his knees. “Yeah, I have Math club now, Richie, dammit, you—that is a very irresponsible decision. What about all of us?”

Richie looked at him, confused. “We were going to leave this city eventually. Bev already did. Did you think we would all leave together and become doctors and urban planners together?”

Stan huffed. “You could easily get into university.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to.”

Eddie pressed a hand against his head and groaned. “Guys, can we stop indulging him? Of course he’s fucking lying!” He gestured towards Richie, as if that was enough to show how full of shit he was (which, Richie would admit, was actually quite a compelling point to make).

“I don’t know, Eddie,” Bill interjected. “He sounds p-pretty serious.”

Eddie turned his raging stare towards him. “No, Bill, he doesn’t, he’s a fucking liar.”

“Okay, okay, it doesn’t m-matter,” Bill said, getting up as well. “We can talk about this later. Everyone’s late anyway.”

Mike was still standing there, looking at his feet. He raised his head and met Richie’s eyes. “I don’t think Richie’s lying. And I don’t think this is just a joke. I’m happy for you if this is what you want, 

Richie. I’m happy you’re getting out.”

Richie was caught by surprised, but he smiled, feeling an unexpected surge of confidence. “Thanks, Mikey. I appreciate that.”

Eddie clearly didn’t feel the same. He got up with a jump, probably wishing he could headlock Mike if his hands were able to reach his head. “How can you say that, Mike??”

“He is a true friend, who has my back,” Richie replied, crossing his arms. He could almost hear Eddie trying to hold back a shriek.

“What??”

Mike shrugged. “I think he is lucky to be able to follow his dreams.”

“Dre—” Eddie was half-coherent in his anger. “What-what dreams? His only plan is to get drunk and piss on every state line he comes across!”

“Hey,” Richie put a hand to his heart, in mock pain. “I’m not out here shitting on your dreams.”

Now Eddie looked like he wanted to kill him. “Shut up! You can’t take anything seriously!”

“Well, I… I guess if this is what you want, I have to agree with Mike,” Bill conceded.

Stan only rolled his eyes and said waved goodbye to everyone. “We’ll discuss this later.” 

Mike followed, then Bill.  
Ben looked at Richie in disappointment. “I…really wish you would have told us before, Richie. We could have talked about it.”

Richie shrugged. “I didn’t think you guys would take it like I’m asking to be euthanized.”

Ben looked like he was about to say something, but instead just grabbed his things and waved to them both.

Eddie was also picking up his things and, understandably, taking a couple of swigs from his inhaler.

“Oi, are you okay, Eddie spaghetti?” Richie tried to reach out a hand to him, but got slapped away immediately.

Eddie stuffed his inhaler in his bag looking at him with big childish eyes of hatred. “I’m not going to go along with this, Richie. You are being ridiculous.”

“Why can’t you support me like Mike?”

Eddie got up, backpack properly strapped to his back. “You should be glad you have someone looking out for you, to pull you back to reality.”

“Come with me, then, and look out for me out there.” Richie tried to smile, but Eddie didn’t flinch.

“I know you’re not leaving.”

“But I am.”

“No, you’re fucking not.” And Eddie marched off, leaving Richie by himself. 

Well, this could have gone better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed I was only showing Eddie at his harshest/most scared, so I wanted to have him be a bit more caring. I don't think I managed, but oh well.  
> Eddie is a very sensitive kid and because he never gets to really display his sensitive side out of fear and shame, I imagine he has a huge interest on sensitive and emotion-heavy objects, like poetry, where feelings are felt and expressed without shame. It makes him cry a lot, but in a good way.  
> He is also a very motherly type - he worries about himself a lot, but he also worries just as much about the people he loves. He is very worried about Richie, but he doesn't want to show it, because he doesn't want his worries to turn real.
> 
> Full disclosure, I totally forgot about Ben during that last conversation and had to include him at the end. I don't know what it is about this boy, but I keep forgetting he exists.
> 
> I think out of all the kids, Mike would definitely support Richie on his decision, because it's the decision he wishes he could make as well. He was the only one who has been dreaming about leaving Derry, way before the clown stuff.


	4. Richie Gets His Sweater Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie does not cope well with the fact that Richie is leaving.

Eddie was terrified. But he wasn’t going to show it.

This was different from all the other million times Eddie had been terrified and had voiced the feeling very clearly and loudly for anyone within hearing range to know. This time he couldn’t voice his fear, because nobody could know. Because if they knew, it would mean it was a real fear, and if this was a real fear, it would mean Richie was going away.

Richie was not going away.

If Richie went away to New York, Eddie reasoned, he would definitely die. He would get AIDs, Eddie reasoned, (you could get AIDs on the subway, you could get AIDs from touching the cashier at a fast-food restaurant, and Richie could definitely get AIDs other ways Eddie didn’t want to think about), and then he would die.

He would get sick and die in New York, and he would die alone.

He would wither away, on a dirty hospital bed, alone and in pain, breathing through a tube, body like a skeleton, pale and stained like an old white rag, like those men in the pictures he had seen, he would cough out all his blood and then he would die, thin and wrinkled and alone, in a hospital in New York somewhere, alone.

At this point in his imagined narrative, Eddie would sit up in his bed, grab his inhaler and breathe in a puff or two. 

But that wasn’t a real fear, he would try and reason again, sitting back on his bed, breathing slowly, because Richie was not going away, he wouldn’t, so he isn’t going to catch AIDs and die somewhere far away, he’s going to stay here with me and all the Losers.

Then Eddie would try not to think about the other day, about the fact that Richie had told him first even though he had pretended not to know in front of everyone else, Richie had told him that and something else, and he had cried in front of him, and Eddie had been scared. Richie leaving was not as scary as what Richie said to him then, at the way he had cried.

He had been too upset to know what to say. He was still upset. He still wished Richie hadn’t said it. 

Most of all, he wished that he didn’t have to be afraid of what Richie had said. That he didn’t have to be afraid of his thoughts, of Richie, of all the lines he and Richie had crossed without words because it had felt right then, even if it never felt right afterwards, when he was alone. 

Eddie tossed in his bed, wondering if Richie would be home if he went over. Then he remembered he had snapped about their friendship and Richie had said he loved him, so… maybe not a good idea.

I love you, Richie’s voice replayed in his head, making his cheeks burn hot. He wanted to erase that memory. He wanted to save it forever. He wanted things to be easy, and for him to be normal. He wasn’t normal. 

At least Richie wasn’t either.

He was so scared Richie was going to go away and die.

Eddie grabbed his poetry book, trying to get his mind off this. He flipped through the pages, stopping at random.

“On the path in the desolate field

The shadows overlapped

And parted.”

Eddie tossed the book at the wall, tears welling up in his eyes. Then he felt bad for it, but he was already crying and didn’t want to get up and get it.

He fucking hated poetry.

He hated Richie.

“Hey, Richie.”

“Eddie, what are you doing here?”

“I’m bringing you your sweater back, you left it at my place two weeks ago, I washed it because it reeked, and you’re welcome,” Eddie said, throwing the sweater at Richie’s face, who awkwardly fumbled with it before giving Eddie another quizzical look.

“Thanks for doing this for no reason, I guess.”

“It was taking up space, I have enough of your crap in my house as it is. Aren’t you gonna let me in?” Eddie took a step forward, but Richie remained steady in front of the door. He crossed his arms, a hand still holding his now rumpled sweater, which Eddie had gone to lengths to iron.

“Isn’t it past your dinner time? Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”

“Mom doesn’t know I’m out. Are you really going to leave me standing here, Richie??”

“Well, as Mrs. Kaspbrack’s closest confidant, I can’t let her son go around at night looking for trouble without her permission, Eddster.”

“Then maybe let me in to your fucking house so I don’t go around looking for trouble.” Eddie’s insecurity was starting to come to the surface in the form of unbridled anger, which Eddie was trying his hardest to keep in check. He didn’t want to get angry, not when he just wanted to be alone with Richie, but ever since Richie’s announcement to the Losers and their constant talking about it for the past two weeks when all Eddie wanted was for them to let it go, Eddie had been angry 24/7. Particularly when he looked at Richie.

He didn’t want to be angry, because there was nothing to be angry about, because Richie wasn’t really going. Which meant, he had convinced himself, that it was fine to go to Richie’s house to see Richie just because he felt like it, because nothing had changed, because Richie was in Derry and he was safe and healthy and not dying in a hospital bed full of needle marks in his arms.

Richie, safe and healthy and alive, didn’t seem to understand why Eddie was here, which Eddie hoped he would even if he didn’t understand it himself. Richie glanced behind him, arms still crossed. “My parents are home.”

“We can go to your room.”

“Last time you came over wasn’t very nice, you know.”

Eddie frowned, lowering his voice. “Stop bringing that up. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings—”

“I thought you were pissed at me because I’m an idiot with no plans? But when you’re horny I guess anyone will do, especially good old reliable Richie!” Richie raised his arms in exasperation, dropping his sweater on the ground while Eddie tried to shush him.

“I—” Why did Richie keep bringing up feelings? Eddie didn’t want to talk about feelings. Eddie just wanted to lie down on a bed with Richie and listen to his heartbeat, he wanted his own heart to stop clenching all the time. “I’m not horny, okay Richie, get your mind out of the gutter, and even if I was, you haven’t—you haven’t kissed me in ages,” Eddie lowered his voice even further, forcing Richie to step forward him to hear, “and I mean, whatever, I don’t care, I just thought—you wanted your ugly-ass sweater back, cause it’s still cold out and I know you own like 2 sweaters and the weather forecast says there’s a cold front coming this weekend and you’ll definitely need to layer up,” Eddie could feel his cheeks going red, because Richie was staring at him so intently it was making his head heavy. He shut himself up, cursing himself for coming over in the first place. “And also, do you have any weed?”

Richie smiled. “In the basement.”

Eddie was freezing because they had to smoke with the basement window opened to keep the smell out (not that Richie’s parents would care, or notice in order to care, but it was standard procedure). He was wearing Richie’s now rumpled sweater and lying on the old sofa-bed, while Richie sat on his father’s wooden reclining chair, legs-crossed, taking a puff of his joint. 

He leaned forward, handing it to Eddie, who took a long drag to warm himself and breathed out the smoke in short puffs. Richie could do the rings, but he couldn’t for the life of him (he blamed it on the asthma, and Richie always rolled his eyes). He leaned back on the sofa-bed, looking up at the wooden-ceiling, at the wobbling lines of the different wooden planks. “I really like your cousin, Richie,” Eddie said, “he’s a wonderful guy.”

“No, he’s not, he charges me a fortune for these,” Richie replies, with a laugh, grabbing the joint from Eddie’s hand. “I’ll give you his number before I leave.”

Eddie leaned on his elbows, turning slowly to stare at Richie. The wooden walls of the basement wobbled too, but it was a nice sort of wobbling, like a boat, peaceful and constant. There were some glow-in-the-dark stars and spaceships glued on the wall to the back of Richie, and they shone a very mild neon. “Shut up about that, Richie,” Eddie said. “You’re not leaving.”

“Says you.”

“Can you stop talking about it?” Eddie asked, and he wasn’t angry. He was pleading, he realized. “Can you please shut up about it?”

Richie stared at him, and Eddie thought the stars behind him were pretty, but he couldn’t look at the stars because Richie was right there and prettier. “Yeah, sure, Eddster,” Richie replied.

Eddie shivered. Richie leaned forward with the joint, but Eddie shook his head, hand grabbing Richie’s wrist. Richie smiled. “You’re so sneaky,” he said, and Eddie felt a thrill run through him. Richie threw the joint into the little ceramic bowl on the floor next to his chair and pounced into the sofa-bed with Eddie, who immediately grabbed onto his waist.

“It’s not my fault you have no heating in your basement,” he grumbled, burying his head against Richie’s chest. “Jesus, Richie, you’re freezing.”

“Yeah, cause you’re wearing the only other sweater I own, asshole.” Eddie laughed, face pressed against Richie’s chest, until he could hear his heartbeat, and Richie had a heartbeat, so maybe that would make things okay and his fears would stop.

“I’m going to get you a sweater for your birthday,” Eddie said.

“Eddie, I swear to fucking God, if you give me a sweater for my 18th birthday, I will end our friendship,” Richie replied, and Eddie smiled, because Richie had stopped talking about it and things would be okay again, they were on a boat rocking softly and everything was okay. “I will give all my weed to Ben.”

“Ben doesn’t even smoke weed.”

“Yeah, cause he’s smart and doesn’t want to lose brain cells.”

Eddie raised his head to glare at Richie. “Weed has proven medicinal properties and it helps in reducing stress and anxiety—”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, you little nerd.” Richie pinched Eddie’s cheek, which made Eddie’s heart go on overdrive, like it always did, but he just shook his head to try to get him away.

“Stop it, Richie—And what I’m saying is, Ben is just a fucking prude,” he said, finally.

“I’ll give my weed to your mom then, we can have the whole Kapsbrak family getting high in my basement.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie dropped his head against Richie’s chest again, hands holding onto his thin sweater.

“I have to go close the window.”

“Don’t get up.”

“And you need to go home, Eds.”

“No.”

He can both hear and feel Richie sighing, and it’s like a cry next to his ear. “You know why I can’t kiss you right now. Don’t make me kiss you because you’ll regret it later, jerk.”

Eddie’s hands against Richie’s sweater tightened. “No, I won’t.”

“And, surprisingly, I’m actually really tired of that.”

“I won’t regret it, that was stupid, before, it’s fine, we’re fine now.”

Richie laughed. “We’re really not. You’re just super high, dude. I can’t give you weed, Eddie, you always get horny.”

“I’m not horny,” Eddie said. “I’m just high. I just want to kiss you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“That’s like asking the sun not to shine, Eddie, it goes against the nature of things—” Eddie pecked him on the lips, interrupting him. Richie stared at him. “Are you happy now?”

“Not if you’re not happy.”

Richie cracked a smile at that: “Aren’t you cute,” and Eddie smiled back. He wondered if he could say those words, and maybe saying them could make the boat keep wobbling quietly forever, like it should. He could feel them there, somewhere in his throat, and they felt like they might come out easy, if he didn’t really think about it and just opened his mouth.

But then Richie’s cold hand had sneaked its way under his sweater and shirt and he was leaning forward and kissing Eddie hard, and there was no space to think of anything else. Eddie just held onto Richie, alive, healthy, close to him, and it was alright.

It was okay for about 5 minutes, until they heard the door to the basement cracking loudly open, and Richie jumped away, quickly rolled Eddie into the throw blanket of the couch until he was at the other corner of the sofa-bed like a burrito and tossed himself onto the reclining chair, kicking the ceramic bowl under the sofa. Eddie tried to protest, but Richie was too fast and he was too high for that.

“Hey, what was that, boys?” Richie’s dad asked from the inevitable crashing sound of a ceramic bowl hitting whatever secrets were already hiding under the sofa-bed. “Hope you’re not wrecking my house.”

“Dad, what do you want?” Richie asked, while Eddie tried to untangle himself. “Eddie here is confiding his girl troubles to me, please don’t be disrespectful.”

“I just want to find the—oh, girl troubles, huh?” Richie’s dad had come down the stairs and glanced over at a finally-freed-from-the-blanket Eddie, who was glaring over at Richie. “You can always ask me for advice. Richie has never touched a girl in his life.”

Richie huffed, leaning back on his chair with a creak. “That’s not fair, because I have touched Beverly more than once. Twice, even, maybe, she punched me one time and I think that counts.”

“Beverly?”

“She was my friend, dad.”

“Oh. Which one?”

“The girl one.”

“Hm. Don’t recall.” His dad sniffed the air, with a suspicious look. Richie looked at Eddie, who was slightly panicked, but Richie just shrugged.

“Ew, Eddie, maybe hold in your farts while my dad is here? Gross.”

“Richie!” Eddie squealed, pulling the blanket over himself again, because Richie was just making it worse (and he was also still a bit hard).

Richie’s father probably knew what the smell was about, but didn’t seem too broke up about it. “No drugs in the house, Richie.”

“Never, sir.”

“And close the window, you two, it’s freezing in here,” he said, as he walked past the window with a glance and went over to one of the boxes. He grabbed some candles and a lighter and went back upstairs. “No funny business, and no listening to Richie’s advice, Eddie, he’s a loser,” he added, before going back up the stairs.

“Ha-ha, what a comedian,” Richie replied, once he heard the door shut, getting up and closing the window with a loud bang.

“I don’t think your dad likes me very much,” Eddie commented. Richie’s dad never looked at him, even when he spoke sort of his way.

“He barely likes me, I wouldn’t feel too bad,” Richie jumped back onto the sofa-bed where Eddie was sitting, arms wrapped around his legs. “Though who wouldn’t like little Eddie Spaghetti?”

“Stop it,” Eddie swatted away Richie’s hands, which were attempting to grab onto his face, dropping the blanket he still had around him in the process.

“You know you love it.”

“I don’t, you’re really annoying,” Eddie managed to hold Richie’s hands in his to stop him, but Richie was stronger and pulled Eddie forward, making him fall on top of him.

“If I’m so annoying, why did you come over to see me?” His glasses were crooked on his face, and Eddie smiled at the look.

“I came over to give you your sweater back, asshole,” he replied, still holding onto Richie’s hands, just in case. He pinned them to Richie’s side, feeling his heart begin to beat fast again, though he knew there was no way they could do anything with Richie’s parents upstairs.

As if reading his mind, Richie spoke up. “I think my parents are having a romantic night. Candles set the mood.”

“Candles are a fire hazard.”

“You can just go ahead and say you hate romance, Eddie.”

Eddie smiled. “They destroy tens of thousands of homes every year, Richie, and are one of the main sources of house fir—” Richie pushed him and pinned him to the sofa-bed this time, as Eddie yelped. 

Richie fixed his glasses with one hand and brushed Eddie’s hair away from his face “Explain to me again how I am the annoying one?”

“I can’t explain it, you just have to get it.”

“I think we should run a poll with our friends and finally settle this once and for all.”

Eddie giggled, and Richie smiled proudly, head leaning down to kiss him. Eddie leaned forward to meet him, eyes closing, but the kiss didn’t come.

Eddie opened his eyes and stared as Richie pulled away, sitting up on top of him, hands placed on Eddie’s chest. “What’s wrong, Richie?” Eddie asked, knowing that Richie was about to ruin everything. 

“I can’t do it, Eddie, sorry. I…If I’m going to kiss you, I don’t want to pretend.”

“What are you talking about?” Eddie sat up as well, forcing Richie to move back. “We’re not—you’re not pretending.”

“I don’t want to have to look at you and not tell you things. Especially now that you know what I’ve been wanting to say.”

“Please, don’t talk about that, Richie.” Eddie’s voice was pleading and his heart was speeding up, but he knew it was a lost cause. He knew he was wrong, and that hurt more than anything. It was real, he was right to be scared, Richie kept making it fucking real—

Richie pulled up his glasses, giving Eddie a pointed look. He got up and moved away from Eddie, who tried to stop him by grabbing his hand only to have it pulled sharply back. “Normally I would give in to you because you’re adorable, but I won’t pretend. Things are different now and I don’t want to keep pretending just cause that’s the only way I can get you to kiss me.”

“Things are not different.”

“I’m still leaving, Eddie. I’m going in two weeks.”

Eddie could feel that uncontrollable anger rising up, because things were not okay and maybe his fears were real. “Goddammit, Richie, why do you have to ruin everything??”

Richie laughed in surprise, which just made Eddie angrier. “How am I ruining everything?”

“Cause you’re leaving. You’re ruining everything by leaving.”

“Excuse me, who’s being dramatic now?”

Eddie’s hands gripped the fabric of the sofa tight. “Do you think the Losers are going to be the same if you go? Do you think anything will be the same?”

Richie shrugged. “Bev left too, and you didn’t make a scene then.”

“Bev didn’t have a choice.”

“Yeah, she was fucking lucky, if you ask me. I wish I didn’t have a choice but to go too. I wish all the Losers would come with me.”

Eddie put his hands to his face in frustration, wishing he had his inhaler with him, but it was in his coat pocket thrown in a corner. “You’re being so fucking selfish and irresponsible.”

“Ah, right, we’re back to that.”

“Yeah, cause you’re acting like it’s no big deal.” Eddie could feel the burning in his eyes threatening to spill, but he managed to keep a hold of himself by breathing in deep. His feelings were again spiraling out of control and he just wanted Richie to say the right thing to him, the thing he wanted to hear, so it could all stop, so he would stop feeling this pain and going crazy. “It’s not that fucking simple, Richie.”

Richie had his arms crossed and was looking away from Eddie. “Right, right, I get it, I’m a fucking idiot—”

“We can’t just drop everything because you want us to.”

Richie looked at Eddie then, eyes hard. “Of course you can. I told you that you can.”

“No, because we have families, and Mike has to work, and Stanley has to take care of his—”

“I know, Eddie, I know, but I have to go. Apparently I’m the only person without a single fucking responsibility in this entire ghost town.”

“You were gonna be our valedictorian, Richie!”

“I literally could not give less of a shit, Eds.”

“I voted for you, you fucking asshole—” Eddie swallowed hard, because he could feel tears clogging up his throat. Richie smiled at him, through his own anger, which was something Richie was always capable of doing and Eddie would never be able to repeat.

“Eds love, I’ll write a hundred speeches for you, I’ll recite you nonsense poetry if you just—" 

“No, no, shut up, this isn’t fair, because you know I can’t leave! But you want to go anyway.” Eddie could feel the tears brimming over, because this was the unspoken fear, and he hated that he had to say it out loud.

Richie’s eyes softened at the sight and he moved forward, bending down to touch his hand on Eddie’s thigh. “There is nothing holding you here, Eddie.”

“I can never leave this place. I’m gonna die here and you’re gonna die somewhere else.” 

Richie looked surprised, and Eddie felt taken aback himself at his own words, but it was useless to fight the stream of tears running down his face now. 

“What are you talking about—nobody’s talking about dying!” Richie said, squeezing Eddie’s thigh softly. “Jesus, Eddie, I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that!” Eddie rubbed at his cheek, squeezing his eyes shut to try to get himself to stop, but he couldn’t, because the fear was true, he was stuck in this place, sick and weak and broken, and Richie was going away, going too far for Eddie to be able to protect him. God—what was he going to do without Richie?

Richie’s hand was still squeezing his knee, but Eddie pulled away, because he hated Richie again, for making him feel this way. “Why would you even be worried about that? I don’t—"

“Bev might be dead for all we know, she never wrote us again. You’re going to forget Derry, and you’re going to forget me. And when something happens to you, I will never know.” His eyes were locked down, at his own hands, because he couldn’t dare to look at Richie, out of fear it would just make him cry more.

“Nothing is going to happen to me, just like nothing happened to Bev.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what might happen, you don’t know anything.”

“Why are you talking about dying, Eddie?” Richie’s voice sounded full of genuine concern, and Eddie looked up at him to find Richie’s eyes were wet as well, wide and scared. 

He had scared Richie, he realized. He could scare him more if he wanted to. He knew all the things he had to say, all the things he had to do. They probably wouldn’t work, not on Richie, not the way they worked on him, but they might.

“I have to go,” Eddie said, getting up, almost shoving Richie to the ground in the process.

“Wait, we can talk about this—Eddie—”

Eddie grabbed at his shoes and jacket in the corner of the room, then, without missing a beat, dropped them to the ground, pulled the sweater over his head and folded it neatly and handed it to  
Richie. “Here. Sorry.” 

Richie watched him, eyes still wide and confused. “Sorry about what?—Eddie, are you okay?”

“I think I got snot on your sweater.”

“Gross, dude,” Richie replied without missing a beat, but he still looked scared. Eddie chuckled, he couldn’t help it, but he tried to pass it off as a cough. “Can we talk, Eddie, can you please sit down and talk?”

“I’m still high and I’m horny and I fucking hate myself, so I think I’m done.”

“Alright. As long as that’s not the start of your suicide note.”

Eddie laughed, and he didn’t try to stop himself this time. Richie still watched him, jaw clenching like it did when he was anxious (which was all the time). “I hate you,” Eddie said.  
“Love you too, babe.”

Eddie moved quickly to grab his things and go before he could let himself say something he would regret.

When he got home, his mother was awake watching television. He tried to tiptoe to his bedroom, but he knew she had heard the door opening and it was useless. “Eddie,” she called out to him when he was about to go up the stairs.

“Mama, I’m sorry,” he said, immediately, heart sinking as he approached his mother on the couch. He wasn’t ready to deal with this as well. “I went to my friend’s house, we were just playing games—”

“Eddie, do you want to kill me? Do you want me to die of fright because when I looked in my son’s bedroom, he was gone, in the middle of the night, on a weekday?”

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry, mama.”

“Well, then don’t do this again. Stop playing with my life, Eddie. As if you have no love at all for your mother.”

“I won’t. I do love you, mama.”

“I swear my heart almost stopped.”

“I’ll get you some water.”

“Did you take your medicine with you? Did you at least do that, Eddie?”

That was the last time he went to Richie’s house. 

His fears still choked him throughout the day, but he kept them inside him, and kept himself at a safe distance from Richie, afraid that he was going to scare him again, that Richie would look at him with a wide-eyed stare and that that’s what it would take for him to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For whoever bookmarked this, I'm sorry my updates are scarce. The world is ending, sort of. Good thing we still have fanfics.
> 
> Eddie being extremely scared of Richie leaving because he might die/get sick makes a lot of sense to me, because growing up this is what "caring about someone" meant to him and this is the only way his mind knows how to process caring about people. As much as he might be afraid for himself, I think his mother's behavior made him way more afraid for the people he loves (which makes Eddie the bravest of the Losers). He's very scared of this fear leading him into the kind of toxic, abusive behavior he has grown up with.
> 
> Welp, this is depressing.
> 
> Also, please comment, even if you have nothing to say! If you have any Richie-like jokes, please give them to me! I'm not funny and it's physically pains me to write a line of Richie dialogue withou a single joke in it!


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